


Chained

by ashes_and_ashes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:57:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes_and_ashes/pseuds/ashes_and_ashes
Summary: Voldemort smiles. “My Spy has told us a lot about you, Sirius Black.”Sirius coughs. His voice is hoarse, raw, and he forces the words out through a tight throat. “Oh, did they? Did they say how nice my hair was?”He hears the murmurs rub through the assembled Death Eaters, and he lifts his chin. “Pity. All this information and they left out my best characteristic.”“Silence.” Voldemort’s voice is cold. “The Spy unformed is of your arrogance, Black. They did not inform us of your stupidity.”Sirius just spits a mouthful of blood on the ground in front of Voldemort.





	Chained

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work but *shrug*

His head hurts.

God, everything hurts.

Sirius wakes up to the throbbing in his skull, located right at the base of his spine. Constant, almost rhythmic, a steady pounding that made his teeth ache and head spin.

He’s been in enough battles by now to know what pain feels like, the severity of the injuries, and he runs through them in his mind. He’s definitely scraped up, though it’s the kind caused by being dragged over rough ground. There are slices up and down his forearm, his fingers slightly numb, but nothing too serious.

But God, his head. Why did it have to bloody  _hurt_  so much?

Dimly, he remembers shouting, yelling at a group of people to  _Go, Run!_ while hooded figures in silver masks closed in around them. He racks his head, and he remembers that one of the people was Remus.

He sighs. He saved Remus. That was all that mattered, anyways.

Sirius grits his teeth. He’s about to lift his hand to his head, check the damage out before he realizes he can’t.

He’s chained to a chair, heavy metal cuffs around his wrists and ankles, a blindfold tied tightly around his eyes. There’s a thick band around his waist, keeping him fastened to the wooden chair, and he strains against it for a moment before sinking back into his seat. He pushes against the cuffs with his wrists as well, bruising the skin, but that fails to open as well.

He gives up. Whoever did this knew their stuff.

There are other people in this room, watching him. He can feel it, from the way the air sounded different, the heaviness and thickness and the slight rustle of a silken cloak. Sirius grits his teeth, pressing against the bonds again, fear turning his mind to mush.

There’s a low voice to his left, gravelly and rough, and Sirius winces as the voice says, “The prisoner is awake, My Lord.”

 _My Lord_. The words strike a chill in him, over his body and down his spine.  _My Lord_. There was only one Lord here.

He hears footsteps, the raps of scales against marble, and he squeezes his eyes shut.  _Not like this_ , he whispers.  _Not like this._

The voice is high and clear and cold, like a shard of ice under the winter moon, making his heart stop and his spine go rigid. “Well. The famed Sirius Black.”

He hears laughter from all around him, and he knows how he must look. Weak, starving, tied to a chair surrounded by killers. Anger starts to pour through him, anger and fear.

The voice continues. “Yes, we’ve heard much about you. Responsible for the deaths of 15 of my loyal followers.”

Another voice shouts out from the crowd. “Take off his blindfold, my Lord! Let him see who he is talking to!”

The voice sucks in an amused breath. “But of course.”

There are suddenly fingers on his head, pressing into the wound there and Sirius winces. The blindfold comes off, revealing the scene, and Sirius almost passes out again at the sight of it.

He’s surrounded in a dark room, the flickering robes of the Death Eaters around him. His vision is blurry at the edges, black spots dancing in front of his eyes, but even he can see the tall, dark figure standing in front of him.

Voldemort smiles. “My Spy has told us a lot about you, Sirius Black.”

Sirius coughs. His voice is hoarse, raw, and he forces the words out through a tight throat. “Oh, did they? Did they say how nice my hair was?”

He hears the murmurs rub through the assembled Death Eaters, and he lifts his chin. “Pity. All this information and they left out my best characteristic.”

“Silence.” Voldemort’s voice is cold. “The Spy unformed is of your arrogance, Black. They did not inform us of your stupidity.”

Sirius just spits a mouthful of blood on the ground in front of Voldemort.

Seconds later, his vision goes white. Something hot and burning streaks across his eyes, gouging a long line in his chin. He rolls his head back, glaring at Voldemort once again.

Voldemort chuckles. “Interesting. You hope to provoke us, to manipulate us into giving you a clean end.” He smiles. “It will not work.”

Sirius gives him a half smirk. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

The words are ignored, Voldemort drawing closer to him. “Tell me where the location of the Order is.”

Sirius bares his teeth. “Go. To. Hell.”

A second later, another jet hits him, and he doubles over in his chair, coughing. Voldemort lifts up a pale hand. “Do you really care so little for yourself, that you are prepared to die without ever seeing any of your loved ones again?” He pauses. “What about the werewolf? Will you die without saying farewell?”

“Who - “ Sirius grits his teeth. “How - “

Laughter echoes across the room. “Our Spy is very well placed.”

His mind races through all the people,  _James and Lily and Remus and Peter and Marlene and Dorcas and Mary and Gideon and Fabian and Kingsley and -_

He cuts himself off, viciously. “Fuck off.”

Searing pain blooms across his wrist. He looks down, to see blood, coating his fingers and arms, dripping down onto the floor. The room spins wildly around himself and he can barely hear the words. “So he bleeds like a human after all.”

Sirius gasps, heart racing. He’s fought and killed and been tortured so many times but not like this. Never by so many people, hacked to death by thousands of little spells. He bites down, hard on his lip, hoping, praying that he was strong enough, that he didn’t break -

Voldemort just tilts his head. “Use Crucio on him,” he says.

And he can’t stop the shaking, the sudden terror that fills his bones. His vision flashes white, streaks of red and silver and suddenly he’s 16 again, dragging himself up those stairs while spasms racked his back. He hates it, the fear, the utter crippling terror and he knows he’s weak, so damn weak but he can’t hide the tremors. He swallows, hard, pressing his wrists into the cold metal of the chains because damn it, he knows what’s coming and -

No matter how many times Crucio is used on him, the pain always catches him off guard.

It’s burning, ripping, shredding, tearing his skin apart, splintering his bones and he can feel his hearts uttering, feel the bones his his wrists cracking as he presses his hands tighter into the cuffs. The tendons in his neck stretch, his teeth clamped down so hard it hurts and hens dying, dying because Walburga had used Crucio so many times before and the pain only got worse and -

The wand lifts and Sirius doubles over, pressing his arms to his sides. Blood pools onto the floor from his still-dripping wrist, the room still spinnings around him as Voldemort cocks his head. “Well?”

Sirius closes his eyes. He knows he can’t take it, the pain, knows that he is going to die in this room and he doesn’t care. He shakes his head.

“Very well.” Voldemort shrugs. “We’ll have to do it this way then. Tell me where the base is and the pain stops.”

Sirius lifts his eyes up, stares into the red skits where Voldemort’s eyes should be. “I’m not afraid of pain.”

Those pale lips curve up into a smile. “Oh, you will be, Sirius Black.”

His last thought before the pain begins is of Remus, and Sirius knows he will never see him again.


End file.
